Backroom.

This is a space that seems to exist outside of time, like a forgotten building that never ends. The walls are a faded, worn yellow, with stains that make it impossible to tell if they are damp or shadows. The ceiling is low and covered with old white panels, from which fluorescent lights hang, emitting a constant, almost hypnotic hum. The damp carpet absorbs the sound of footsteps and leaves an uneasy feeling, as if the floor had held years of silence. The corridors multiply in all directions; some are narrow and suffocating, others open onto empty rooms with misplaced furniture—a lone chair, a disconnected telephone, doors that lead nowhere. Sometimes the temperature changes for no reason; one corridor might feel warm and the next freezing. The place plays with orientation and the mind, making it impossible to know if you've been walking for minutes... or hours.